As o’er the Past My Memory Strays

As o’er the past my me­mo­ry strays

Why heaves the sec­ret sigh?

’Tis that I mourn de­part­ed days

Still un­pre­pared to die.

The world and world­ly things be­loved

My anx­ious thoughts em­ployed;

And time un­hal­lowed

un­im­proved

Presents a fear­ful void.

Yet

ho­ly Fa­ther

wild des­pair

Chase from my la­bor­ing breast;

Thy grace it is which prompts the pray­er

That grace can do the rest.

My life’s brief rem­nant all be Thine;

And when Thy sure de­cree

Bids me this fleet­ing breath re­sign

O speed my soul to Thee.